


Animal Instinct

by underthenorthstar



Series: Tumblr Fics [7]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, F/M, Modern AU, Murder, Nothing is graphic but you have been warned, References to Sex, Serial Killer Ivar, Torture, in which ivar is Hannibal lecter, ivar and Freja get off on torture and blood, professor ivar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11674200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: For the Tumblr Prompt Serial Killer!Ivar.In which Ivar is basically Hannibal Lecter.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My depraved mind combined Hannibal and modern au Ivar. Trigger warnings in the tags, please heed! 
> 
> Sweetbread is the throat or pancreas of an animal, most often a goat or sheep.

She puts the finishing flourishes on the roast, stepping back to admire the delectable array of meat, potatoes and root vegetables on the tray. Quite good, if she does say so herself. Practically restaurant quality. 

She picks up the silver platter, heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way out into the formal dining room. Their dinner guests look to her expectantly, hungry eyes watching the steaming meat as she sets it upon the table.

"My lovely wife, with the main course!" Her husband announces, his smooth velvet voice slinking over the grand room like a calm night breeze. "Thank you, Freja darling, it looks absolutely delicious."

The guests hum in agreement. She shares a smile with her husband; his perfect plush lips pull back over sharp white teeth. A dark shudder slithers down her spine. He is in a mood tonight. One she will thoroughly enjoy, both now and later.

Her husband serves his guests, and they all sit tuck in. Moans and hums of appreciation fill the air, they find the meal excellent. 

"Ivar, this is delicious. What an excellent cut of beef."

"Ivar, your wife is indeed an excellent cook. No wonder your lunches in the staff room always smell so good."

"Where do you get your meat?"

Ivar waves his hand nonchalantly, and only she catches the special gleam in his eye. 

"Oh you know....it's locally raised, free ranged fare," he says, and she has to hold in a giggle. "I butcher it myself. I am told I have talent with a knife."

She squirms in her seat. He doesn't mean that the way she's thinking of, but even watching him....work, so to speak, makes her ache for him something fierce. His hands were made for wielding sharp blades. 

"It's such a pity Professor Heahmund couldn't be here for this dinner, he always loved a good roast," Professor Harald Finehair (Ancient European Warfare) states. "Do you think they will ever find him?"

"If they do, it will be a body," Harald's brother Halfdan, the university's rugby coach, shakes his head. "Missing two weeks. He's probably dead."

"Didn't he lobby to have your department removed, Ivar?" Professor Finehair's assistant Egil asks. "Something about more funding for his Biblical Research Department?"

Ivar takes a long sip of his red wine. "Yes," he says, and his fingers visibly tighten against the glass. "But really, I have no hard feelings. Aren't we all just trying to keep our passions alive and funded?" He smiles, and the wine on his teeth looks like blood.

She wishes he would have her right there on the dining room table. 

"Very true," Harald inclines his head. "Dean Ingstad would have never approved him anyways. As much as she doesn't like you, Ivar, she has always had a soft spot for the pagan studies."

She sees her husband's eyes darkening. He hates Dean Ingstad. She knows he longs to get his hands on her, to work his magic with his knife and his "special tools". She won't go quick like some of the others. With her, it's extremely personal. He'll make it last weeks. 

And for her, that means weeks of earth shattering, mind blowing, don't-bother-wearing-underwear -because-it's-just-going-to-be ripped-off-of-you-anyways sex. 

He's always at his best performance when he's got a "visitor" in the basement. 

"That may be," her husband nods, "but it does not matter, does it? She will not be Dean for much longer."

Harald smiles. "No, she will not. And I appreciate your help in the matter, Ivar."

Ivar grins again, all predator moving in on a kill that doesn't even suspect that it's the prey. "It is my pleasure, Finehair. To success, and the future of our good university, " He raises his wine glass.

"To success, and the future," Harald agrees, touching their glasses together. "And to your wife, for the most delicious meal I have had in ages."

Ivar's smile grows wild. She has to bite back another mad giggle. 

"Thank you," she nods in Harald's direction. "You will have to join us for dinner again."

The party ends not long after dinner. "I have papers to finish grading," Harald excuses himself. "You know how it is."

"I too, have work I must get to," Ivar replies, and only she notices his fingers twitch. They're itching for blood. It won't be long now.

In fact, it's not even three hours later. 

Egil screams as the hammer comes down on his hand, the sound of bone crunching and shattering filling the air. Ivar sits on his stool, a hungry smile on his face as he watches the man writhe in pain. 

"Shhhhh," he coos, reaching out to run his hand over the man's head. "Save some energy. You have a long way to go, and it's no fun if you pass out right away."

"You're insane," Egil cries, struggling against the tight leather straps that bind him to the chair. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"

"I'm doing this because it's fun," Ivar says simply, bringing the hammer down on Egil's hand again. The scream bounces off the sound proof walls. "And because it's all part of the big picture, a part in my plan. And because Freja likes to watch. Isn't that right, kitten?"

She nods enthusiastically from her place in the corner. "Yes, Ivar."

He grins wickedly; the hammer falls again. And again. She drinks it all in eagerly. His strong hand gripping the hammer. His teeth bared in a twisted grin. His handsome face spattered in blood. He oozes deadly power and destruction, a god towering over a weak and helpless mortal. She can't help but moan out loud. 

Ivar clicks his tongue, setting down the hammer and picking up his knife. "Patience, kitten. I'm not quite done yet. A little while longer, then I am all yours. In the meantime, perhaps you could look up a new recipe? I'm thinking we should try some sweetbread this time."

She nods, opening up her phone, crossing her legs tightly to try to stall her burning need for him. "Yes, I was very disappointed you didn't want to try that with Heahmund. He was surprisingly tender, it probably would have worked nicely."

"Mmmmm," Ivar hums, and she looks up to see the delight in his face as Egil's eyes go wide. "Egil will be our guinea pig, won't you, Egil?"

"What do you mean? What are you talking about? What- argh!" He is cut off by Ivar dragging the knife across his cheek, red blooming along the pale skin. He leans forward and licks it up quickly, grinning madly at Egil's horror.

"Come taste, kitten. I think he will be even better than Heahmund. Though not as good as Aelle. Ah, what a treat that fat man was! And to think, the police think he ran off because his wife died."

She skips over happily, wrapped her tongue around the blood soaked finger Ivar offers her. The taste is metallic and sweet in her mouth. She smiles. "He's perfect. How soon can we start?"

"Give me a few days, kitten," Ivar leans in and presses a swift but hungry kiss to her mouth. "Let me have my fun. It's been almost three weeks, and I need a good playtime."

"Alright, but hurry up right now," she whines, reaching down to tug at his belt buckle. "I've been on edge all evening knowing you'd bring another toy home, and I want to have playtime of our own!"

Ivar growls, low and predatory. She practically mewls in need at the sound. "Half an hour, kitten. Find me that recipe, then change into my favourite outfit and wait for me."

"You two are insane," Egil interrupts. "Insane! The papers have been talking about a serial killer around here for months. Months! And you've been right under their noses. You killed Heahmund! And Aelle! And you, you...." he trails off, unable to complete the horrific though that has just occurred to him. 

"We're all just animals in the end," Ivar shrugs. "It's our base nature to kill, to take life and gain some in return. Freja and I just follow the laws of nature, the survival of the most equipped. We take what we want. We live by instinct. It's a dog eat dog world out there, Egil. Or should I say man eat man?"

Egil's mouth opens and closes with horror, the reality of exactly what he ate for dinner setting in. Ivar drags the blade across the other side of his face. She watching some blood flecks land on her new skirt. It looks pretty against the light fabric. 

"Upstairs, kitten," Ivar orders, shooing her with a hard swat on her ass. "Don't start without me." 

"Then you don't bother showering. I want to taste, feel and smell the pain," she calls as she heads up the stairs, almost dizzy with desire and filled with a madness only her deranged lover can give her. A feral growl and long scream follow her. 

He doesn't shower. Their sheets are ruined. She doesn't wear any underwear for the next week. It's bloody, chaotic, mad, bliss. 

And when Harald comes over for dinner a fortnight later, they serve him sweetbread.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More blood, more murder, more sex, more people eating. Basically.
> 
> TW: blood, murder, cannibalism (nothing graphic but it is implied), mild sexual content, having sex next to a dead body, bloodplay, knifeplay, a few derogatory names used

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little (or a long) part 2 to my original idea for a Hannibal AU with Ivar and Freja. Bacially just what the summary says. Read at your own risk please!

She's so beautiful he could die.

Hair tied up, piled elegantly on the top of her head. Creamy, perfect skin, flecked with crimson stains and leftover bruises. Her long, dainty fingers wrapped around a sharp blade. Murder in her grey eyes and a vicious smile on her plump pink lips.

He's so in love and aroused it hurts. 

The man underneath her knife gives a horrible squeal as she cuts deeply into his hand, trying to find the nerves. She's not quite in the right spot, but he supposes he can forgive her as it is usually him who does the work. She begged him this time though, to please let her try. They're out of the country, repaying a favour, and he doesn't even know the man. A perfect time to let her take the reins for a bit.

He's nothing if not a generous husband. 

"Here kitten, let me help," he moves his chair behind hers, reaching his arms around her. He wraps a hand around hers, pressing the entire length of his chest against her back. He feels a shudder run through her.

"Am I not doing a good job, love?" She questions, and he has to chuckle at the slight bite in her tone. Such a brat. In and out of the bedroom.

He pushes himself closer to her, and she sighs in delight as his lips ghost over her neck. 

"You are exquisite, kitten," he mumbles into her warm skin. "You were born to wear the blood of others upon your skin. My body aches for you, to take what is mine and mine alone. But you do not know the finer details yet. So allow me to show you."

He guides her hand; the scream that follows is delicious. She quivers in excitement against him. 

"Show me more," she demands, and he is happy to. 

They slice and hack, maim and mutilate. Their victim's cries mingle with her giggles and his murmured directions. It's not as slow as he would like, but they only have tonight for the job. Still, he enjoys it. They work so well together, him and his Freja. It's like a dance, a dance of blood and chaos and dirty lust. He thinks he should have let her join in ages ago.

Eventually, as he shows her the best way to cut off an ear cleanly, he notices. The subtle shift of her thighs. The slight shake of her hand. They way her breath leaves her in a soft woosh when he ghosts his lips over her neck. 

She is ready for him. 

He has been ready for her since she first picked up the knife. 

This kill is not personal, so he has no qualms about what is he about to do. He snatches the knife from her hand and not so nicely shoves her out of the way. Her shriek of protest is muffled by the terrible shrieking and gurgling of the man as he slits his throat with one clean cut. Warm, sticky blood sprays everywhere, showering the two of them like a light summer rain. 

"Ivar!" She stamps her foot like a petulant child, her face twisting in frustration. "We were not finished!"

He shrugs, wiping the knife on his pants. "I dare say we are. You have been shaking for me for a while now."

Her nostrils flare. "That doesn't mean I wanted to stop. I was having fun!"

He raises an eyebrow at her. "More fun then you will have when I slam you down on the bloody concrete and take you like the wild, wanton animal that you are?"

She opens and closes her mouth, trying to come up with a veritable comeback. 

She doesn't have one.

Although, as he's making her squeal and tear his back to shreds, he swears there are a few mumbles of "arrogant prick" thrown in there. 

It makes him smile.

Afterwards, they work quickly to clean up and dispose of the body. He's excellent at making an accident out of a brutal murder. She makes him join her in their victim's shower (the can't get blood on the guest sheets again, she says), and annoyingly bats away his wandering hands. They don't leave without some souvenirs; his kitten carves out their trophies and carefully packs them in their small cooler.

As the crooked politician's house burns against the warm summer skyline, they sneak away like ghosts in the night. They catch a cab a few miles over, and the cabbie is so impressed with the huge tip pressed surreptitiously into his hand, he does not notice the cooler. 

And he firmly averts his eyes when they start groping each other in the back seat.

"I'm hungry," she whines as they crash into the house, a mess of teeth and tongues and half ripped off clothing. "I have everything for steak and kidney pie, let me just-"

"No," he growls, shoving her onto the floor right there in the entryway. "You know I always like my dessert before my meal."

She tugs hard on his hair as he hikes up her dress and throws her legs over his shoulders. "Domineering bastard."

He snarls, bringing a large hand to her throats and squeezing. "Bratty little bitch," he spits, and it earns him an extra hard tug and a fiery hiss. 

But she allows him to feast to his heart's content, and when he finally eases her cramped and shaking legs off of him, there's something soft and warm in her dazed smile. He can't help but lean forward and capture her lips in a gentle kiss. She sighs happily, kissing him for a few minutes before she pushes him gently away.

"Real food," she says, and he hands her the cooler as she slinks off into the kitchen. He fishes his phone out of his half open pants. He's got a phone call to make.

"Is it done?" Ubbe is nothing if not straight to the point. It's one of the traits he admires about his brother. No meandering bullshit-just straight to business.

"Yes," he says, making his way to the spare room. "Horrible thing, those gas leaks."

"Thank you," Ubbe's voice is full of relief. "That rat bastard was undermining my agenda at every turn. With him gone, things will be a lot easier."

"I don't like being in debt, especially to family," he settles himself on the queen bed. "Consider it my pledge to your campaign, future Mayor Ragnarsson."

Ubbe laughs. "Just don't get any blood on the bed this time, okay? Maragrethe bitched for weeks about last time."

"No promises," he quips, and hangs up before his brother can berate him any further. 

He quickly undresses reaching for his briefcase as he slips under the duvet. He grades a few papers before there is the sound of soft footsteps coming up the stairs. 

"I tried rosemary and sage this time," his beautiful, naked wife says, balancing two plates on one arm and a bottle of wine her other hand. He sets aside his papers, reaching out for his plate. "Last time we had kidneys I don't think I seasoned them right. They tasted funny."

He scoops up some of the steaming pie and pops it into his mouth. She climbs into the bed beside him, watching his reaction. 

"Delicious," he declares, and she grins. They relax into the bed and each other, feeding each other bits of pie. He supposes it all looks horribly domestic. 

"I want to help out more often," his kitten declares, setting her empty plate aside and curling into him. "I love to watch you work, it is such a turn on, but doing it myself...."

"Quite a thrill, isn't it?" He says, ghosting a hand over her bare arm. "You looked so perfect, so beautifully brutal, standing over him with that knife. It took all my willpower not to take you while you were playing."

Her eyes light up. "Oh, next time will you? Please? To feel you, while I see flesh open and hear the screams...that would be utter perfection."

He growls, hunger for her flaring deep in his belly. "Little vixen, do not tempt me with such visions of ecstasy."

She purrs like the kitten that she is, climbing on top of him. 

"Want to practice? I'll let you have me while you leave knife marks on my skin.....and if you are a very good boy, you can even lick up all my sweet, luscious lifeblood."

He groans, thrusting his hips up forcefully and relishing the moan that spills from her lips. "Did you bring any of the meal's blood in that cooler of yours, my kitten? You know I love to mix my drinks."

She leans forward to press a bruising kiss to his lips. His kitten, his vicious, perfect, insane little Hellcat. Oh how he loves her, how he adores her. 

She pulls away from his mouth to give him a wicked, wicked smile. 

"Last one downstairs has to clean up the mess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm horrible.

**Author's Note:**

> More writing at underthenorthstar on Tumblr :)


End file.
